up!" cried a saucy robin, and "I will!" promised Sally.
After breakfast, she was sent up to the prisoner's room with a porringer of bread and milk. She found him up and dressed and gazing out the open casement. He turned with a smile to greet her: "Good-morrow, Mistress Sally! I was waiting to be summoned to breakfast!"
Sally placed the porringer upon the broad window-sill beside him and pointed to it gayly. "Your breakfast walked up to ye, instead! An ye wish more, ye ha' but to call me. I shall be working in the garden below," she told him smilingly.
The enemy! Yet his nut-brown face, almost as smooth as her own, his friendly brown eyes, even his unruly brown hair tied in its queue cried out to the lonely girl, offering comradeship—temporary, it is true; but quite sincere. How could she do otherwise, then, than return the smile with which he knelt beside her a little later as she weeded and seeded a vegetable bed and offered to help her? She shook her head, saying that the work might injure his arm. By mutual consent, neither referred to the manner in which it had been originally injured, both rather implying that he had fallen from his horse and so had hurt it thus. Only once did they near the dangerous topic of the war, and that was Sally's fault; she tactlessly told of a
